You
by forgetpoundgivemekoenig
Summary: Your fist on his face is calming. ((2nd POV))


**A/N:**

**Another random thing. **

***2nd POV happy dance***

Your fist on his face is calming.

Now that you feel bone, now that you feel anger, now that you feel like you're doing something, you're calmer.

And now there's blood, red and hot, and you feel even better. Because there's a whole crowd around you but it's just you and him, you and the blood, you and what you know and he knows, just the two of you. When someone grabs your shoulder you ignore them and when someone yells your name you ignore them. Who are they but minor nuisances? Who are they but people who don't understand?

He smiles and there's blood on his teeth, so you know he can taste it. Not only can he feel it, but he can taste it, and he's smiling but you know you've done _something_. He didn't think you would do it here, now, in front of all these people.

You punch him again and there are words you want to say, things you want to promise, people you want to threaten to really get him _good_. You want him to feel like you did all those years; _hopeless. _You want him to be scared, because you're scared, and it's only fair that he feels the same.

Fingers clench into palms and flesh meets flesh, bone meets bone, you want to spit on him.

You're _angry. _

You're _scared._

You're calm because you can see the blood on his teeth.

You're calm because you're doing _something_.

It doesn't last long enough, nothing ever does, and Scott is looking at you like you've done it. But, there's something there, something like guilt, like the kind you used to see on your dad's face. Because sometimes he would get really drunk, like _really _drunk, and when he was calling you stupid and worthless he was telling himself that it was _his fault_. You're stupid because he didn't help you study, you're worthless because he's not been giving you the best he can.

Are you okay?

Yeah, maybe you're an asshole for not asking it, but you know enough about prying not to pry.

On the bus on the way to the meet you're forced to sit by Coach. You keep one eye on Scott and one eye on your phone, in case Scott decides to chew you out that way. It's risky with Coach right there, but you kind of wish he would. You've come down from the high and you're starting to feel bad for what you did. You upset Scott and you're a hypocrite, since you were telling Boyd to forget it only thirty minutes ago.

"What's gotten into you, Lahey?"

What's gotten into you?

_What's gotten into you_?

You've lost two people you've (loosely) called your family in the past few months, you've been given a wolf in sheep's clothing and told to keep away from the hunters, you've met with an Alpha pack that wants you dead.

When Derek kicked you out, you felt worthless, and when you kept Boyd at bay (sort of), you felt useful.

When you punched Ethan or Aiden or who the hell ever, you felt powerful, and now you just feel small.

"I don't know, sir."

"You have to know _something_. Are you and Aiden having some kind of trouble?"

So it was Aiden.

You shift in your seat, "He knows about my dad." You lie and even thinking about it hurts you, "He makes fun of me."

"You should have come to me."

Yeah, you think, because you would have risked benching a star player.

"I didn't want to bother you."

"So you punched his lights out!?"

"I only drew a little blood." You smirk despite yourself and Coach sighs like he's lost the best thing in the world. It's heavy and world weary, two things Coach wouldn't know anything about, and he puts a hand on your shoulder.

You let him.

You kind of like it.

"I'm going to bench you for a few games." He lays down the punishment with another pained sigh, "Just until you and Aiden figure this out."

"I don't think that'll be any time soon." You answer honestly and the grip on your shoulder tightens, pressure for a few, comforting seconds, then disappears completely.

You miss it.

You liked it.

"I know what happened was..." Coach trails off, "You know."

"Do you?"

You say it bitterly and you know the wolves can hear (the wolves on the bus hear everything, everything, everything; the wolves on the bus hear everything and you don't really like it) because they're all waiting to see what you have to say for yourself. Aiden and Ethan are smirking, Scott's probably worried, and maybe Stiles is exasperated.

"I don't."

His heart doesn't skip a beat.

Did you really think he would lie?

Maybe you hoped (just a little).

"I've had a lot of stuff going on." You try to tear away the silence, break it down, build it into something like friendly conversation. Or, really, any conversation.

"I know you have, Isaac."

The bus goes over a bump and you lean a little in you seat, keep from falling by grabbing the seat ahead of you. Coach puts a hand on your shoulder again and steadies you, pulls it away and mutters something under his breath. With your werewolf hearing, you should be able to hear it, but you ignore your senses and get lost in your mind.

About forty five minutes ago you were feeling bone, you were seeing blood, you were feeling calm.

Now you're taking what little comfort you can from a hand on the shoulder and waiting for a text too risky to be sent.

Right now, you don't know what's coming next.


End file.
